


Staggering Regrets

by Triscribe



Series: What-If Star Wars AUs [5]
Category: Star Wars: Kanan (Comics), Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Injury Recovery, Kanan Jarrus Needs a Hug, Minor Injuries, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Order 66, why isn't there a tag for Caleb Dume??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triscribe/pseuds/Triscribe
Summary: The blind obedience of the biochips only lasts long enough for Order Sixty-Six to be carried out. Grey and his men "wake up" even as they're still standing over General Billaba's body.And afterward, the search for Caleb Dume goes much, MUCH differently.
Relationships: CC-10/994 | Grey & Kanan Jarrus
Series: What-If Star Wars AUs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788598
Comments: 33
Kudos: 450





	1. There's a million faces, Told to get in line

**Author's Note:**

> Think I wrote the first three chapters of this fic, oh, two years ago? Maybe longer. Finally whipped up a good enough ending yesterday, which means for possibly the first time ever I'm posting a multi-part fic that's ALREADY FINISHED. HA!
> 
> Chapter titles are from The Score's song Run Like A Rebel, which amuses me to no end. Enjoy!  
> -Tri

_Execute Order Sixty-six._

_Good soldiers follow orders._

_Order Sixty-six._

_Good soldiers follow-_

_Follow-_

_Follow the General-_

_-follow orders-_

_Order Sixty-six_

_General Billaba-_

Blinking, Commander Grey stopped what he was doing. Stopped shooting.

Stopped shooting at his General. His Jedi.

“No...”

Around him, other troopers also froze where they stood, in the midst of firing at a corpse or following Captain Styles up into the woods. Helmets were torn off and horrified gazes exchanged as the men all realized what they’d just been doing.

They had _attacked their General._

“No!” Dropping to his knees, Grey reached out a shaking hand, and gently grasped her shoulder. There was no response from Billaba.

_They’d killed her._

For the first time since he was a shiny fresh out of Kamino, Grey felt the overwhelming urge to throw up the contents of his stomach. Multiple blaster wounds littered her back, but most were unneeded. She’d gone down from his hit, dead center between her shoulder blades. _He’d_ killed her.

Because of a three word command from the Chancellor.

“This- this isn’t right,” Soot muttered from behind him, one hand gripping an arm wound where Caleb had redirected a shot at him.

_Caleb._

“Styles-!” Grey looked to his second in command, but the other man was already running, his weapons dropped and forgotten. A few troopers hurried after him, but most remained where they stood, or sank to their knees.

Billaba was dead. Because they’d _attacked_ her - her and Caleb, a boy who wasn’t even fourteen yet. Uncertain of just how long he stayed there, holding onto his fallen Jedi, Grey was only aware of the distant, desperate cries being shouted by Styles as the captain searched desperately for their Jedi Commander.

For a boy who would be right to never trust them again.

-Regrets-

“Anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright, return to your campsite, then.” The pair of troopers just back from patrol saluted, then hurried off. Sighing, Grey looked again to his map of Plateau City, trying to see where Caleb might have gone. He was certain the boy was hiding somewhere in the urban environment, though just in case there were groups of troopers keeping an eye out for him in the surrounding countryside.

Within the span of three days, everything Grey knew had been turned on its head. The Jedi were gone - maybe a few runners like Caleb were still alive, but not the thousands there were supposed to be. Palpatine had declared them to be traitors, declared the War over, declared himself Emperor of the galaxy. Nothing made sense.

In the interest of protecting their remaining Jedi, Grey had sent in a report that both Master Billaba and Padawan Dume had been killed in the minutes following Order 66. He hoped that the blatant lie would be enough to keep anyone else from looking for the kid, while giving him and his men the chance to find Caleb and hide him somewhere safe.

But first, they had to actually locate him. And that was easier said than done.

Kaller would be a secure world soon - there were only so many false reasons for Grey to insist that their work wasn’t done yet. He could stall for another week, maybe two, but then the 705th would be sent elsewhere. And they wouldn’t be able to protect their little Commander, or even apologize for the terrible wrong they’d done in attacking him and Billaba.

And Grey _knew_ they were wrong. All his men knew it, as did most other veterans of the war. He’d even been contacted by Marshall Commander Cody, the sole remaining member of Grey’s original training group, to discuss what had happened to their minds. Cody too regretted opening fire on his General Kenobi, but was convinced the man had escaped - only his charred outer robe had been found, after all, not a body. Grey told him about Caleb, and the higher-ranked commander promised to do what he could to help the 705th find their missing Jedi.

“If nothing else,” he said, “I can arrange for a few of your men to be assigned to a special task, and let them keep searching regardless of where the rest of you go.”

His support was a boon to Grey, one that re-energized his resolve to find and protect Caleb.

He owed the boy that much.

-Regrets-

“Well well, if it isn’t a baby Jedi.”

Freezing in the act of climbing through an open window, Caleb extended his senses through the Force. There was a single Kalleran watching him from across the warehouse, but no one else.

“Well, don’t just hang there, boy, come in, come in.” Hesitantly, Caleb did so, dropping to the floor and immediately bringing out his lightsaber. “Oh, no need for that, I mean you no harm.”

“If that’s true, then show yourself!” Exhausted, starving, and completely drenched from the rain outside, it was all the boy could do to keep from shaking where he stood. The mystery Kalleran slowly moved towards him out of the darkness, hands held up in a gesture of peace.

“Easy there, boy. You look like you could use a place to rest. Hm, and maybe something to eat, too...” A moment later, a rectangular object was thrown at him, causing Caleb to reach out with one hand and catch it. After wasting a couple seconds to identify the thing as an unwrapped ration bar, it only took a few more for the kid to completely devour it. Deactivating his lightsaber in order to use both hands, he didn’t see the greedy smile on the face of the mystery Kalleran.

“Th-thanks,” he muttered after finishing the food. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Tapusk,” came the response, right as Caleb felt a wave of dizziness crash over him. “Come on over here, boy, you look like you could use a straight week of sleep...” The Kalleran’s words faded out as hands painfully gripped Caleb’s shoulders, and too late he felt the Force cry out a warning.


	2. Spend their lives in cages, Until the day they die

Styles arrived back from patrol. Grey took one look at his face and sighed.

It had been more than a week since Order 66 - _since they killed her_ \- and there’d still been no sightings of Caleb. He’d vanished, presumably into the back streets and alleys of Plateau City, and Grey feared more than ever that he wouldn’t have the chance to make things right.

His commlink beeped, signalling an incoming transmission from one of the patrol groups. Answering it without a second thought, Grey frowned as Soot reported that they’d found a Kalleran who said he had information about their missing baby Jedi.

Styles met his gaze from across the office, and not ten seconds later both men were hurrying out the door.

-Regrets-

Walking along behind the pair of clone troopers, Janus once again questioned his sanity.

He had, after all, simply gone to see Tapusk about renting a few of his goons for a heist, yet now he was turning in his fellow smuggler to the authorities. Usually, it was something of the other way around.

But after what he’d seen in the other Kalleran’s warehouse...

“Sir, this is Janus Kasmir. He claims to have information on the whereabouts of Ca- of the Jedi traitor.” They’d arrived at the edge of the complex being used by the army, where a couple of clone officers were waiting. Janus recognized them from the paint on their armor - these were the Commander and Captain themselves, who’d been so protective of their Jedi not two weeks before.

“What do you know about the traitor, Kalleran?” The Commander asked.

Janus arched an eyeridge at him. “Well, for one thing, I know you lot don’t think he’s a traitor.”

Admittedly, he _wasn’t_ one hundred percent sure about that, but from what little Janus had seen of the clones during their patrols, he’d come to the conclusion that they weren’t soldiers hunting for a fugitive.

They were men trying to find a lost kid.

“And I know that he’s in trouble.”

-Regrets-

“...and I have recently, procured, an item you may be interested in...” Tapusk spoke aloud as he typed out his message. After much deliberation on who to get in touch with concerning his new merchandise, the smuggler decided on a contact in the Jheb’ris system, one who handled an underground slave ring that focused on younger goods.

“How much do you think the Jedi will go for, boss?” One of his henchmen asked, standing beside Tapusk’s desk.

“Oh, quite a bit, I’m sure - maybe enough we’ll finally be able to invest in expanding our business.” The yellow Kalleran let out a dark chuckle and continued typing. From a cage tucked away in the far corner of the room, he heard a quiet whimper. The sound of it only caused Tapusk to grin wider.

Then his front door exploded inwards.

Instinctively, his quartet of bodyguards reached for their weapons, but the troopers streaming in were faster. Before Tapusk could do more than dive for cover beneath his desk, they’d each fallen to the floor, dead.

“All clear, Commander.”

“Not quite.” The back of Tapusk’s shirt snagged, and he was bodily hauled out from his hiding place to see a blaster pointed right between his eyes. “Where’s the kid, tuft-sucker?”

“K-kid? I don’t- don’t know what you’re-”

“‘To Fierziek,’” a clone who’d picked up his datapad began to read. “‘My name is Neret Tapusk of Kaller, and I have recently procured an item you may be interested in for your auction. He’s young, in decent condition, and has the added rarity of being one of the galaxy’s last Jedi.’ I’d say our informant was spot on with his intel, Commander.”

“I’d say so too, Sergeant-”

“Sir, back here!” Tapusk found himself being dragged in the direction of his caged prize, and frantically tried to think of a way out of his predicament.

“Look, I know you people have orders to kill all the Jedi,” he wheedled. “But just think! Why kill this one for nothing, when I can sell him and send all of you a cut of the profits?”

Apparently, that was the wrong track to take, because the commander promptly lifted Tapusk up and slammed him into the wall.

“If you know what’s good for you,” the clone growled, “Shut the kriff up before I have you shot trying to escape. Sergeant! Hold onto this slimeball for me.”

“Yes, sir.” The pressure on Tapusk’s throat vanished only momentarily, before the other trooper took his commander’s place. In the back of the room, two others were trying to disable the cage’s lock while murmuring quietly to the boy within. It finally occurred to Tapusk that men sent out to kill a fugitive wouldn’t bother doing that - they’d just shoot through the bars.

Which meant his situation was a lot more bleak than he’d initially thought.

Finally, the cage opened, and the commander himself reached inside to pull out the Jedi boy. Tapusk mentally winced at the wrist and ankle binders secured too tightly over raw skin, the bruises caused by his men kicking at the cage for amusement, and the metal gag secured over the boy’s face. The clone pinning him to the wall went abruptly tense, letting out a low, feral sound that Tapusk wouldn’t classify as human in origin if he didn’t know better.

To make matters worse, the Jedi was just awake enough to struggle, despite the drugs in his system. Without an expensive Force-suppressant on hand, Tapusk had mixed up a cocktail of other substances to keep his prize quiet and groggy, unable to put up a fight. Apparently, though, the effects had worn off to a point where he was weakly twisting, trying to get out of the trooper’s grip.

“Easy, Caleb,” the commander murmured, leaning back to settle the boy in his lap. “You’re safe, I promise, just calm down for me, please?”

Another of the clones approached to start getting the binders and gag off, while the little Jedi continued to flail as much as he was able.

“He’s not going to stop struggling, Grey,” the captain said. “We’d be better off knocking him out to work on those things.”

“When he’s already got stars-know what chemicals in his bloodstream? No, that’s not a- Caleb?!” The commander’s panicked shout came right as the boy went limp in his arms. “Fek and all, he’s not breathing!”

“Set him down, quick!” As the clone securing Tapusk leaned away slightly, watching the officers trying to revive the Jedi, he took a chance. One sudden shove was all it took to knock his guard away, and then the Kalleran was sprinting towards the warehouse door.

He never saw the blaster bolt that struck him in the back. And he wouldn’t see anything ever again.

-Regrets-

He was warm.

As soon as that thought made itself known to Caleb’s half-awake mind, he was able to determine that he was no longer trapped in a metal cage barely bigger than he was. Happy with that, he returned to dozing.

Then the memory of just _why_ he was no longer caged returned, and the boy bolted upright.

“Whoa!” A clone - Term, if the familiar tattoo on his head could be believed - who’d been sitting next to him on the bunk jerked in surprise. “Caleb! Are you alr-”

Without a second thought, Caleb grabbed ahold of his newly returned Force powers and _shoved._ Term went flying across the room, crashing into another bunk bed and attracting the attention of everyone nearby. Startled and concerned faces turned his way, and Caleb pushed himself back into the wall with a whimper. A few of the clones tried to approach, but froze at the quiet noise.

“Everybody, just relax.” Grey appeared out of the crowd, only wearing half his armor. Some part of Caleb’s mind distantly recognized that he was in the barracks of the Star Destroyer _Stability,_ while the rest of him focused solely on the man moving forward with slow steps.

When he was still a few feet away from the bunk, Grey carefully sank to his knees, keeping one hand up while the other reached for something on his belt. Caleb’s breath hitched, and he very nearly threw the clone just as he’d done to Term, but then he realized just what Grey was grabbing.

Two lightsabers.

His and Master Billaba’s.

And the man was holding them out to him.

With more hesitation that he’d ever had in his life, Caleb scooted to the edge of the bunk, then onto the floor. His legs were still weak from however many days he’d gone without food, so the boy stayed on his knees as well while reaching for the weapons. As soon as they were out of Grey’s grasp and into his own, Caleb clutched both to his chest.

“Y-you killed her.”

Grey winced, and Caleb could sense shame and guilt flowing not just off of him, but every clone in the room.

“I did,” the commander replied softly. “And I’m so, _so sorry,_ Caleb. They did something to our minds, and we didn’t have a choice.”

With that, the boy’s carefully built dam finally broke, and he started to sob. Cautiously, Grey reached forward to grasp his shoulders, and pull him into a hug. Caleb curled up against the warm chest and just cried until he dropped into an exhausted sleep once more.


	3. But I'm not a number, I can't be defined

With Caleb’s trust in them tentatively restored, the troopers became that much more determined to get the kid someplace safe, out of the Empire’s reach. Along with the pair of lightsabers, Grey also returned to him Billaba’s holocron, which Big Mouth had found during their search of Tapusk’s warehouse. The kid’s old clothing had been deemed pretty much ruined beyond use (not to mention conspicuous), so a few of the more talented clones ‘borrowed’ a couple lengths of cloth from the ship’s quartermaster and sewed him some new ones. While it was pretty obvious Caleb didn’t especially care for the rough grey garments in place of his Jedi clothes, he nonetheless hugged each of the men who’d contributed to making them.

“Better than constantly sitting around in my underwear, I guess,” he said with a weak grin. Styles ruffled his hair after that, and promised that they’d get him a proper outfit at their next assignment.

During the two days between when they’d rescued Caleb and the kid finally woke up, orders had come in for the 705th to depart Kaller and head for Pantora, both to deliver some relief supplies and curb the handful of protests that had taken place against Imperial rule.

Less than an hour before the _Stability_ took off, though, Grey entered the barracks and opened up his comlink, moving over to the bunk that had basically become Caleb’s own. “See? Alive and in a lot better shape than your ‘buddy’ left him.”

“Glad thing,” a Kalleran Caleb didn’t recognize replied. “Or else I’d have learned you trooper types really are a bunch of lying backstabbers.”

“Uh, Grey...?”

“Kid, this is Janus Kasmir.” The commander’s eyes softened as he looked down at the young Jedi. “He’s the one that told us where to find you.”

Caleb blinked. “Oh. Thanks, mister.”

“No problem, kid. Just don’t go getting caught by people like Tapusk again, yeah?”

“Y-yeah...”

“Good. So long, then.” With that, Kasmir closed down the link, and a moment later Grey did the same. He then gently grasped Caleb’s shoulder, giving the boy a reassuring look.

“Get some more rest, kid. We’ll be making the jump to hyperspace soon, and then the men and I need to disperse to the training halls. Gotta keep up appearances, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine, Grey. I’m spending most of my time asleep, anyway.” And that, to Caleb’s distaste, was perfectly true. After being held prisoner for nearly a week with next to no water and less food, anyone would be in a weakened state, regardless of the extra drugs and occasional beating. The wounds on his wrists and ankles were kept covered with bacta bandages, while Caleb took in as much water and ration-mush as he could stand.

When the familiar hum spread through the ship around them signifying the hyperspeed jump, troopers donned their armor and headed out, many of them pausing on the way to give their little Jedi a word of reassurance or a pat on the head.

A few minutes after he was finally left alone in the barracks, Caleb carefully slipped out of the bunk, his lightsaber in hand. Keeping it deactivated, he assumed the basic Form Three defensive position, and started to move through the kata Master Billaba had favored.

Or at least... He tried to.

Only a few movements in, and Caleb’s limbs were trembling slightly. He tried to push past the physical weakness, breathing more and more heavily, until the boy gave in and collapsed. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, but Caleb refused to let them fall. Being able to defend himself was more important than ever, and yet he couldn’t stand long enough to complete a single, basic kata sequence.

About to just crawl back into bed and admit defeat, Caleb froze when the Force quivered in warning.

-Regrets-

“...and I’d like to see about getting our endurance up by lengthening the runs, maybe by a quarter lap per week,” Grey said to Styles, the two of them leading the way back to the barracks. As officers, both had their own personal quarters, but could excuse the visit as a need to speak with some of the men.

Just as they reached the door, though, it slid open, and two nat-born lieutenants stepped out.

Grey felt his heart skip a beat, but refused to let the surprise or panic show on his face. “What’s going on here?”

“Routine inspection, Commander,” one of the men said in a bored tone. “No need to get your armor in a twist.”

“The scheduled inspection isn’t until twelve hundred hours _tomorrow,”_ Styles pointed out, scowling.

“New directive from higher up - trooper barracks are to be subjected to random inspections twice a week, officer quarters once a week. Apparently some clones thought they could get lax with the recent changes.” The second of the lieutenants turned his nose up at them, causing the couple dozen troopers behind Grey to bristle. He felt the same urge to put the pasty-skinned desk-worker back in his place as well, but had a more pressing concern to focus on.

“Understood, Lieutenant. Are you finished, then?”

“Yes, Commander.” Giving his comrade a mildly reproving look, the first one who’d spoken stepped aside to let the clones pass. “Everything in proper order, aside from a couple un-made bunks, but I expect you can handle the reprimands for those.”

“Of course.” The lieutenants departed, finally giving Grey the chance to hurry into the barracks hall, the rest of the men right behind him.

Everything was, as the man had said, in proper order - at least to the eyes of someone unaware of the secret the troopers had been hiding.

“Caleb!” Styles called out in a hushed tone, making a beeline for the bunk where the kid was _supposed_ to be. “Caleb? Where are you?!” He grabbed the blanket and shook it out, but no Jedi, lightsabers, or holocron appeared.

“Okay, everybody just calm down,” Grey ordered. “We know he must have hidden himself when those two came in, so start checking the places that _aren’t_ usually subjected to inspection.” Men spread out in all directions, calling softly for the missing kid.

A little while later, while checking the different grates leading into the ship’s ventilation system, Soot and Term found him.

“Typical,” the sergeant snorted as his commander and captain hurried over. “Looks like the kid was waiting for those pad-pushers to finish, and dozed off!” Several feet past the vent opening, Caleb was curled up in a little ball, sleeping peacefully with the holocron and lightsabers cradled to his chest. Grey repeatedly called his name, bringing the kid to a state of semi-consciousness that lasted only long enough for him to crawl forward into the man’s arms. Carrying the boy back to his bunk, the commander made sure to catch and hold the gaze of his captain, who held the Jedi artifacts in his own hands.

“From now on, we can’t leave him alone.”

“Right.”

-Regrets-

_“Good soldiers follow orders.”_

_“Execute Order Sixty-six.”_

_“Execute the Jedi!”_

_“NOW!”_

“No...”

_“Caleb! Run!”_

“Caleb?”

“NO!” Twisting upright with a short scream, Caleb almost lashed out at the presence he’d been lying against in his sleep. Almost. “G-grey?”

“Easy, kid,” the trooper breathed, hands hovering inches away from taking hold of Caleb’s shoulders. “It was just a nightmare. Okay? It’s over and you’re safe here. You’re _safe.”_

Still trembling from seeing _that night_ again, Caleb nonetheless pushed himself into Grey’s hands, leaning back against the man as he tried to get his racing heartbeat and panic under control. Sitting on the floor at the end of the bunk, Styles was frozen in the middle of cleaning his blaster, watching them with wide eyes - same as just about every other clone in the barracks.

It had been two days since the surprise inspection, and only a couple hours until the full 705th was expected to disembark on Pantora. None of them had yet figured out where they were supposed to stash their Jedi while they were on-world, especially since it was unknown how long their operations would last down there.

The fact that Caleb’s nightmares had made a recurrence only left them all further on edge.

“Yeah,” the kid mumbled, rubbing his palms across his face. “Yeah, m’okay.” Gradually, the rest of the room returned to normal activity, though quite a few of the troopers glanced over periodically to check on their Jedi, who didn’t feel inclined to shift away from Grey any time soon. It was easier to feel the man’s presence in the Force when leaning against him, an aura that radiated calm strength and protectiveness and concern, all of which did more to help Caleb’s own frazzled state than any words.

Of course, then the moment had to be interrupted by Grey’s comm link beeping.

“Sorry,” he apologized, nudging Caleb upright in order to grab the device from his belt. The kid moved far enough down the bunk so as to be out of range of the disk’s viewer, but not so much he couldn’t pay attention to the incoming call. Styles clearly noticed, because he reached a hand up over the edge to pinch Caleb’s foot, and chuckled when the boy retaliated by gently kicking at his head.

“...good to hear from you,” Grey was saying as Caleb switched back to paying attention. The kid blinked, startled to realize his friend was genuinely smiling at the clone on the other end of the call. “Cody was especially worried when your lieutenant said you’d only left behind a comm code for emergencies.”

“Yeah, he said as much when I first got in touch with him,” the other man said, sounding fond. “After cursing me in four different languages, of course. Anyway, Cody also said you managed to find your little commander?”

“That’s right. C’mere and say hello, Caleb.” Baffled, but willing to trust Grey, Caleb scooted back into range of the comm link. The unknown clone appeared pretty surprised to see him, but the expression gave way to a relieved grin.

“Hello, Commander Dume. My name’s Rex, former Captain of the 501st.”

“Hi,” Caleb replied. “Are you the one Styles complains about always beating him on the obstacle runs?”

Rex barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“But I beat him back on the marksmanship tests!” Styles called, pushing up off the floor in order to perch on the end of the bunk.

“The kriff you did,” Rex yelled back, still laughing. “But enough about that - you lot are due to arrive on Pantora soon, right?”

“Less than two standard hours now,” Grey confirmed.

“Good. My friend and I will be there by tonight, aboard Senator Chuchi’s ship. We can have her arrange an inspection of the Stability, and get Commander Dume slipped into her party before disembarking again.”

Blinking, Caleb looked up at Grey, who’d gone from cheerful to pensive. “Is there no safer route? That option will put him in front of the ship’s entire command element, and if any of the Naval officers recognize him...”

An indistinct murmur could be heard through the comm, and Rex glanced at someone out of the pick-up range. “We’ll have a costume of native clothing that covers from head to toe, face mask included. A few of the other party members will be wearing them, too, so he won’t look out of place, either.”

“And after he’s off the ship?”

“Direct transport to the Senator’s family estate, and from there a private vessel to Alderaan, where General Kenobi’s waiting for us. After that I can’t say.”

Grey let out a long exhale before meeting Caleb’s gaze. “It’s your call, kid. Try to sneak out tonight, or stay hidden in here until a better opportunity presents itself?”

“I-” It felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “I don’t- I don’t know...” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to compare the benefits and drawbacks of the two options, but the sudden looming of an immediate deadline had thrown him for a loop.

“Rex...?”

“We can schedule the inspection regardless,” Rex promptly offered. “If he’s made up his mind by then, we can go either way.”

“Thanks, Rex,” Grey said quietly. “I’ll get back to you.” The men exchanged nods, and then the call ended, and Grey was suddenly holding Caleb very tightly.

After a moment’s silence, Styles spoke up. “It might be the only option for getting him out that we have for a long time, Grey.”

“I know,” the other clone murmured, his face pressed to the top of Caleb’s head. “I know, but dammit, I’m biased. I don’t think anyone in the galaxy will protect him like we can.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” the kid mumbled from within the tight embrace, “I don’t want to leave you guys either.”

Grey barked out a laugh, then slowly withdrew enough that he could meet Caleb’s gaze. “Staying here forever won’t work, kid. We all know that.”

“Yeah.” Sadly, Caleb stared at the deactivated comm. Decision settling in his mind, he took a deep breath. “I’ll leave tonight.”


	4. Shake off the devil, Run like a rebel

Funny how fifteen years could seem to vanish faster than stars at hyper-speed.

Ignoring the muffled taunts and jeers shouted from around them, Grey kept his head held high as he led his column of brothers towards their transport ship. A new directive from the High Command, noting a deficiency in remaining clone troopers, decreed that they were to be sent to Kamino for evaluation, and then re-disbursement to appropriate postings. Everyone knew what it really meant: any clone who showed signs of rebel sympathies would be put down, and the rest scattered across the galaxy, bereft of their remaining brothers.

Considering the entirety of Grey’s command contributed to acts of sabotage and information leaking, he figured odds were they’d all be dead in three days.

There wouldn’t be any proof that could stand up in a court martial, of course, not with how carefully he orchestrated things - but little things like “proof beyond a reasonable doubt” didn’t matter quite so much to the Empire as they did to the Republic.

“All your troops accounted for, Lieutenant?” A smugly grinning nat-born officer asked him halfway through the hangar bay. Grey ground his teeth. Demotions for command staff clones went through years past, but he never could get used to the change.

“Every man present, _sir,”_ he bit back. The smug look increased.

“Well, I hope you all have a good time on your homeworld, and do drop us a holo-card from whatever your new station happens to be.” Sniggering, the officer turned and sauntered off, just as the transport’s ramp lowered with a hiss. Grey focused his attention on the lone stormtrooper that descended it, eager to distract himself from his impotent fury - and frowned. Something in that gait... and shouldn’t _two_ troopers have emerged?

A sudden yell erupted back the way they’d come. “Intruders! Rebels! STOP THAT SHIP!”

Ah. That explained it.

Stormtrooper CC-10/994 should’ve attacked, even bare handed as he was without his usual blaster or vibroblade. Clone Commander Grey, however... he looked to the lone man standing before him, the open ramp, and took a chance. “Vod’e, all aboard! We’re getting out of here!”

His brothers didn’t need any further encouragement. As the transport’s cannons began firing on the Imperial ranks behind them, the group of thirty men charged forward. Grey held still, counting buckets as they flowed past and into the ship. Return fire hit a couple of those in the back, knocking them down with pained shouts - without a second thought, the commander darted out to grab the nearest one, the stormtrooper in disguise right beside him.

With the blaster fire increasing as more nat-born troops ran into the hangar, Grey cursed, desperately wishing for a weapon of his own-

And then a _fzzz_ sound straight out of dream and nightmare alike erupted above him. Grey nearly froze in the act of dragging his injured brother back towards the transport. A slim figure flipped over his position, landing just in time to deflect a blaster bolt that would’ve hit Grey square between the eyes.

Orange jumpsuit, dark blue hair, bright blue lightsaber - too small, too young to be a survivor, had to be a new student, a padawan, _just like Caleb-_

“Vod, come on!” The stormtrooper in disguise shouted directly into his ear, jolting Grey back into moving. The two of them swiftly retreated, reaching the ramp and gaining more hands in pulling the wounded men to safety. From the relative shelter of the ship’s main hold, Grey turned again to watch the small Jedi - and cried out in protest as he caught sight of a thermal detonator arcing through the air.

The kid didn’t see it. His head jerked up at Grey’s shout, but the incoming explosive was further to his left, out of sight, it was going to land and go off and _another Jedi was about to die-!_

Grey tried to jump back down the ramp, desperate to do _something,_ even if there was no way he could possibly reach the kid in time to shield him with his own body. Instead, the stormtrooper grabbed his arm, yanking Grey back, before pointing.

The detonator had frozen mid-air.

Then, as if swatted by a tooka, it flew back towards the thickest knot of enemy soldiers, exploding right in their midst. And from the opposite direction, another figure with a blue lightsaber strode into view.

Grey’s breath caught in his throat.

Human, adult male, brown hair pulled back, angular features, green outfit and armor- maybe. _Maybe._ The chances were astronomically slim, but it _could_ be-

The ramp pulled up, slamming into place and blocking his view of the two Jedi. Grey whirled towards the man beside him. “What are you doing? They’ll be overrun!”

“They’ll be fine,” the other replied. “Kanan and Ezra know what they’re doing, and there’s a smaller ship waiting for them at the far end of the hangar, they’ll be right behind us.”

Multiple emotions raced through Grey. Concern. Anger. Relief. _Disappointment._ Then the other man tugged off his bucket, and the sight of an unknown brother pulled him up short. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Boil,” the bearded clone huffed. “I’m one of Cody’s men.” He turned away, to face the crowd of shocked and hopeful brothers gathered in the hold as the transport rumbled, lifting up and out of the hangar. “Need to take a quick survey of the ranks - any of you unwilling to fight for the Rebellion, speak up now and we’ll drop you off in a safe location. There’s no shame in it, if you’re tired of fighting; Force knows I am, and I only run rescue ops these days.”

A few murmurs, some shared looks. When none of the men spoke, Boil glanced at Grey. “...there are Jedi in your Rebellion.”

“A few, yes. Some survivors. Some newcomers.”

_Execute Order Sixty-Six. Good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow their General-_

“I have a debt to repay. Any Jedi willing to work with me at their backs, I’ll do my damnedest to keep them alive and safe. Haat, ijaa, haa’it.”

“Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” several of the others repeated. _Truth. Honor. Vision._

Boil slowly nodded at the words of the Mandalorian promise. “Alright then.” He lifted his arm, and spoke into a wrist comm unit. “Spectre Five, the floor is yours.”

A door leading deeper into the transport slid open, and a slim figure in _the_ most colorful armor Grey had ever seen strode through. “Su cuy’gar, verde!” She hollered. Many, _many_ eyebrows went up. “I’m Sabine Wren, and I’ll be providing your introductory lesson to the Alliance to Restore the Republic this morning!”

Grey wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt at the way Boil smirked and folded his arms.

-Regrets-

When they arrived at the Rebel Headquarters on Atollon several hours later, the men disembarked in the groups they’d formed according to experience and specialty. Five techs, seven pilots, three medics, half a dozen scouts, and the remaining eight shock troopers behind Grey himself. A decent sized crowd of rebels awaited the newcomers - and Grey did a double take at how many brothers he saw among them. Beards, long hair, tattoos, facial scars, all did their part in disguising the shared face of every clone, but there was no denying the identical expressions of hopeful longing.

For one vod, at least, that hope paid off. A shout, a shove forward, and then one of the rebel clones darted straight towards one of the pilots in Grey’s group. The target squinted, before his own eyes opened wide in shock, right as the other man crashed into him.

“Nooner,” Big Mouth muttered. “Looks like Shiner was right, he really did get out.”

Grey nodded, glad to see the reunion. No other clones received flying tackle hugs, but their brothers still emerged from the crowd of rebels, approaching the newcomers to exchange greetings and names. By unspoken rule, the commander and his closest men stood together in a knot, waiting for- something. Boil gave them a side-eyed glance as he walked past, but didn’t comment, heading on to hug a young twi-lek woman wearing white and yellow armor.

“You guys _are_ allowed to mingle, y’know,” Sabine drawled, the next to come down the ship’s ramp.

“We’re aware,” Grey replied. “We’re just-” Whatever he might have said died away, as a light engine whine echoed overhead. The Mando girl grinned.

“That’ll be our Jetiise!”

At her words, Grey couldn’t help but lock his sights in the incoming ship, a small thing that barely looked hyperspace capable. It settled a bit further down the landing strip from their stolen transport, where there was a little more room.

Grey’s feet started moving.

The second ship’s ramp opened, revealing the pair of Jedi from before, the elder ruffling his student’s hair and earning a squawk of dismay. “Kanan, c’mon-!” A deep chuckle was the kid’s only answer, and it was different but so _familiar-_

Teal eyes looked up to meet Grey’s gaze. Eyes that filled his dreams, just as much as dark brown ones filled his nightmares.

Someone behind him shouted in recognition. Grey didn’t pay attention to who - he just increased his pace, and met Caleb halfway as the other hurried towards him in return. Hugging a man taller and more heavily muscled than he remembered threw Grey off at first, but the way those hands clutched at his back hadn’t changed at all.

“Hi, Grey,” Caleb Dume murmured.

“Hey, kid. Just had to go and grow taller than us, huh?”

“Well, I knew I’d need _something_ to lord over you when we finally met up again.” Laughing, the grown Jedi pulled back, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. At that point, the rest of the men arrived around them in a chorus of excitement and cheering. Questions flew, jumbled together in an indecipherable mess, but Caleb just beamed through the noise and rounds of hugs and shoulder slaps.

“Uhh...”

Somehow, a single noise of confusion managed to attract the Jedi’s attention, and he turned to look towards the teen still standing awkwardly by the small ship. “Ezra! Get over here and meet my brothers.”

Bafflement slowly shifted to curiosity, and the boy trotted closer. Those in between him and Caleb obligingly made room so the kid could reach the relative safety of his mentor’s side. “Brothers, huh? Does that mean I can pester them for embarrassing stories about you?”

Caleb sighed and rolled his eyes, as chuckles rolled through the group of clones. “You sure can, and we’ll be delighted to share ‘em!” Someone called out. 

Ezra promptly smirked. “Okay, I already like these guys.”

And Grey could tell, from the sheer joy radiating off of his men, that they already liked the little Jedi as well. He hung back as the others took turns introducing themselves, several mentioning how they first met Caleb, working hard to put the teen at ease in their presence. The grown Jedi caught his gaze eventually though, and with a subtle head tilt effortlessly drew Grey a few steps closer.

“Ezra,” Caleb said, drawing the boy’s attention. “This is Commander Grey. If you're ever in trouble but I’m not here, you go to him, okay? He’ll look after you.” The two of them shared a meaningful look, before Grey dropped his eyes to meet eager blue ones and smiled.

As he’d told Boil on the ship, he had a debt to repay, for General Billaba and the rest of the Jedi. But in this moment, basking in the light of Caleb’s old trust and Ezra’s new, well. That felt like a pretty good start.


End file.
